


Homegrown Lightning

by deadgranger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Community: FFT, Community: HPFT, Dark/Horror, F/M, Family, Origin Story, Torture, Violence, War, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25612741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadgranger/pseuds/deadgranger
Summary: A boy grows, a fervor is gained.Written for beyond the rain's Underrated Character Challenge on HPFT!
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange
Kudos: 1





	Homegrown Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> Title help from Emily (BookDinosaur)!
> 
> Thank you to Kris (grumpy cat) for looking this over for me! <3

Being the younger of the two Lestrange brothers had its perks and had its downsides, Rodolphus figured. Since he was only four, that meant he got to do all of the fun chores with their mum, Berenice, while Rabastan, aged ten, had to go do the boring or gross ones with their father, Ophiuchus. He loved spending time with his mum, just the two of them. 

“Mum, come look at what I made these flowers do!” Rodolphus shouted, kneeling in the gardens out of sight of her. 

She walked over and smiled prettily at him as the flower blossoms touching his hands were cycling between blooming and closing and dying. Setting a hand on his shoulder, she said, “That’s wonderful, son. Now come on, it’s almost dinner time, and I’d like for you to tell your father what you did with these flowers, okay?” 

“Yes, mum,” Rodolphus said, beaming. His ability to both revive and kill the flowers with a touch of his fingers was more invigorating than he’d expected it to be, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. He did know that it made him feel powerful, and a dark smile flitted across his face as he followed his mother inside to wash up before the evening meal. 

Dinner was usually a boring affair for four year old Rodolphus, but he was very excited to share his news with Rabastan and Ophiuchus, and could hardly sit still in his seat. 

“Rodolphus, son, sit still or you’ll be sent to your room without your dinner,” Ophiuchus ordered. 

Rodolphus immediately quit bouncing and sat quietly, waiting for a house elf to serve him his dinner. They ate in relative silence, the only sounds being forks and knives scratching against the plates as the three older people at the table cut into their steaks. Berenice cut Rodolphus’s steak into bite size pieces for him before cutting into her own. He happily dug into his steak bites, having already forgotten his father’s threat. 

A few minutes of polite dinner talk between Ophiuchus and Berenice passed, with the occasional contribution from Rabastan. Rodolphus was about to put a large forkful of potatoes into his mouth when Berenice got his attention. 

“Would you like to tell your father what you showed me in the gardens this afternoon, Rodolphus?” she suggested. 

He looked to Ophiuchus, who was waiting patiently with an expectant look on his face. Rodolphus carefully set his fork down on his plate so it wouldn’t lose the potatoes and sat up straighter in his boosted chair.

Taking a deep breath, he began, “Well I was playing around mum’s flower garden and some of the flowers weren’t blooming like the rest. I didn’t like that because they were behind their friends so I made them bloom myself. And then I wanted to see if they all closed up again, so I made them do that too. And then I didn’t like that so I made them die and come back to life all over again. Then mum came over and said I did a wonnerful thing and told me to tell you. Was that magic, father? Do I have magic like you and mum and ‘Bastan?”

Ophiuchus remained expressionless for a moment, causing Rodolphus’s heart to sink a bit. Then, he set his fork and knife down on the table and scooted his chair away from the table. 

“Come here, son,” he said, holding out his arms and giving his son a small smile. 

Berenice helped Rodolphus clamber out of his chair and over to his father. Ophiuchus picked him up and set him on his knee. 

“Now listen closely, Rodolphus,” he instructed. “What you did in the gardens was magic. Your very first willful expression of it, at least. That means that you’re special. You’re important, and you’re more special than non-magical kids. You’re above those muggles, and always will be. They’re scum, and not to be bothered or played with at any time. Do you understand, son?” 

“Yes, father,” Rodolphus dutifully replied. Some of the words were definitely too big for him to understand, but he figured mother would explain it again later in terms he could understand.

“Good,” Ophiuchus said. “In light of Rodolphus’s show of magical prowess, let’s have some dessert, to celebrate. Storts, make my youngest’s favorite dessert. Now!” 

Storts the house elf bowed low before apparating out of the dining room to the kitchen. Rodolphus slid out of his father’s lap and returned to his seat at the table, beaming. He looked to Rabastan, who was also smiling, even though it was mostly about getting dessert on a non-holiday and not that Rodolphus had shown his magical skills. Berenice had finished her steak during Ophiuchus’s lecture, and was now politely waiting for a signal to begin conversation again from her husband.

“Berenice, could you please arrange for tutors to start coming in the next weeks to begin Rodolphus’s education? We must get him started now that he’s shown his magic already,” Ophiuchus queried. 

“Of course, Ophiuchus. I’ll send owls first thing in the morning,” she answered. “Thank you. Rabastan, how is your arithmancy? Professor Kordechai said you’ve improved greatly since his last exam.”

Rabastan shuffled in his seat, uncomfortable now that the attention was turned to him. “It’s fine. I got a ninety-four on last week’s exam. He says I still need to work on my theory with the number seven though, that’s where I got all of my marks off.” 

Both adults nodded, while Rodolphus just thought that was a big number for Rabastan to score. He could barely count past ten himself, but he figured he’d learn in time and eventually be even smarter than Rabastan. Storts came back into the dining room with the dessert then, causing any concentration Rodolphus had on the conversation to cease entirely as he focused on the heaping chocolate cake and raspberry concoction in front of him. 

Rodolphus went to bed that night dreaming of chocolate, raspberries, and magic, his father’s harsh words dampening an otherwise pleasant dream.

~*~*~*~*~

Next fall, when it was time for Rabastan to start at Hogwarts, that meant Rodolphus got to spend that much more time with their mum, and he was happier for that. Even when he turned five and had tutors to teach him his arithmetic and letters, he still enjoyed reading a book or story with his mum before bed every night. They were all magical stories; sometimes it was the classic Tales of Beedle the Bard; others, it was family heirloom stories about blood purity and how magic must be kept between the proper families and the truly righteous folk of the Wizarding world. 

His most prized possession was a toy Norwegian Ridgeback dragon figurine that she’d gotten him for Christmas that year, which could fly onto his hand and blow fake fire. She often found him in the mornings with the little dragon curled up next to his head on the pillow. He’d sometimes taken to terrorizing the house elves with his toy dragon though, leaving some of their ears, hands, or togas singed from toy dragon fire. Unbeknownst to Rodolphus, upon seeing his son’s marks on their house elves, Ophiuchus would simply give a grunt or harrumph that signaled the elves to either change or punish themselves for being so careless as to get in the way of young Master Rodolphus. 

Now that he had tutors to help him learn his letters and things, they would often show him things they could do with magic if they finished the lesson early, just to keep him entertained and willing to learn next time. Rodolphus was a quick learner, so this meant they often had ample free time at the ends of lessons for these displays. After one lesson with Professor Kordechai was finished, Rodolphus asked him to do a trick with his toy dragon; after seeing how much destruction one could do to a house elf, he was curious if there was a way to use magic to make more toy dragons that spit fire from just his one toy. 

Professor Kordechai bowed his head and obliged, holding his hand out for the Norgwegian Ridgeback. Roldophus handed it over gleefully, clapping his hands together in anticipation. Drawing his wand, Professor Kordechai said a few spells in sequence, pointing it at the dragon. After a few seconds, the little Norwegian Ridgeback got even smaller, and then suddenly there were ten of them in Kordechai’s hand. Rodolphus let out an excited shout and clapped furiously with joy. 

Two of the miniaturized Ridgebacks flew over to Rodolphus and landed on his little shoulders. The rest of the dragons were now exploring Professor Kordechai’s books and papers on the table, with him quickly casting protective charms against the flames they were producing with great vigor, even though it was hardly more than a candle flame of power. 

“Thank you, Professor Kordechai! This is the best!” Rodolphus exclaimed. “Now I know that I can have so much more fun with my Ridgeback than ever before when it breathes fire. When I have my own wand I want you to teach me that spell first!”

The man bowed to the little boy, pleased that he’d found this charm entertaining as well. “I’m afraid I must return your dragon to its original state now, Master Rodolphus. You know the rules.”

Rodolphus’s face fell, even though this happened every time. Professor Kordechai cast ‘Finite Incantatem’ on the ten dragons, and they all moved back into one dragon of larger size resting on the table, smoke coming out of its nostrils. 

“It can be our little secret, hm?” Professor Kordechai said, winking. “Let’s go see your mother now, yes? She should be made aware of your great progress this spring.” 

Rodolphus nodded, scooping up his now sleeping Norwegian Ridgeback from the table and cradling it in his arms. 

They continued their Arithmancy lessons twice a week after that, as Berenice Lestrange was very happy with her son’s intelligence at his young age. Ophiuchus was neutrally pleased with his youngest’s progress, and therefore chose to give him his own type of tutelage in family history and blood purity once or twice a month. Letters from Rabastan to Rodolphus (and Berenice, in reality) confirmed their father’s teachings to the little boy, who grew to love his family history more than he’d ever thought he would like history. His family’s power and presence and purity became of great import to little Rodolphus, and he took great pride in being a Lestrange. Being descended from the French line of Lestranges, Rodolphus felt a desire to one day visit the family’s old estates there, and do some more historical research on his ancestors and distant relatives to see just how widely the Lestrange family influenced magical Europe. His pride and power would only grow as he aged. 

~*~*~*~*~

Turning nine meant getting his first real broomstick to practice flying and Quidditch maneuvers on. Roldophus hadn’t been allowed when he was younger as he’d constantly fly right into Rabastan, Ophiuchus, or the ground as soon as they took their hands off his broom. Flying didn’t come to him half as naturally as magic did, but he didn’t let that stop him. If he was going to be the best and most powerful Lestrange ever, then he had to master flying as part of that grand plan. When he finally mastered taking off and landing on his own, Rodolphus felt exhilarated while flying, as if nothing and no muggle could ever bother him while he was up in the sky. 

He would fly around the estate’s grounds all afternoon, chasing birds and other flying creatures as he wove between lofty tree branches and tried out moves he’d learned from watching his brother. Rodolphus fell more times than he could count those first couple of weeks of broom ownership, but he didn’t mind. Getting to fly was the freest he’d felt as a nine year old boy who could ask for the world and receive it. Even though he knew he wasn’t allowed to join a Quidditch team until he was a second year at Hogwarts, he still desired to train as hard as if he were on the team. 

Sometimes he’d even make a few of the family house elves throw balls around and act as Quidditch hoops or targets for him. He scored ten points by hitting a house elf in the stomach, and gave himself twenty points for hitting them in the head. Berenice frequently had to stop these matches so she’d have someone to cook meals in the evenings, so this particular game was relegated to once a week only. He was angry about it for a few days after his scolding, but realised by only doing it once a week, he could focus the other six days on improving his other Quidditch skills. 

Finding time to practice with Rabastan got harder after his brother’s fifth year at Hogwarts ended. When he wasn’t looking gloomy with their father in his office, he was otherwise telling Rodolphus to go away and that he didn’t want to play Quidditch and that he had more important things to do. Rodolphus didn’t mind though; he could play against the house elves all day if he liked, and he enjoyed improving his aim and skill at throwing the quaffle at the hoops balancing on their heads. 

~*~*~*~*~

An eleven year old birthday party in late May the following spring meant the next day a letter arrived from Hogwarts for Rodolphus. His mother handed it to him, and he opened the envelope, carefully breaking the wax seal and sliding the sheets of parchment out. He unfolded the parchment slowly, knowing exactly what it contained. 

“To Mr. Rodolphus. F. Lestrange: Congratulations on being accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will begin attending in the fall on September the First, where you shall learn all manner of magic and magical theory. Please find enclosed the list of necessary books and items to have with you upon arrival at Hogwarts. Sincerely, Headmaster Armando Dippet,” Rodolphus read out loud. 

His mother smiled brightly at him, while her husband merely looked somewhat pleased that his youngest son would be off to Hogwarts in the fall. Rabastan grumbled under his breath and begrudgingly accepted the fact he’d have to keep an eye on his little brother for one year at Hogwarts after a brief conversation with Berenice. 

Berenice took Rodolphus shopping for his school supplies in July, bringing along several house elves to carry all of the packages and bags they accumulated during their day-long excursion. As they purchased something new, Rodolphus found great pleasure in tossing said item to a house elf unexpectedly, and, if they didn’t catch it, forcing them to punish themselves until his mother deemed it not productive or polite to do in public. Then he tallied up all of the misses for later, thinking up creative ways for them to be punished when they returned home. Rodolphus abhorred shopping, hence his game with the house elves, but his mother loved it for the ample opportunities it provided her to socialize and put on airs about being of the Lestrange family in polite society in a less formal setting than the usual galas and balls. They finally entered the last shop of the day, which was to be Ollivander’s wand shop. 

After seeing the list of things to buy when Rodolphus had gotten his letter that Thursday night, he’d gotten excited at the prospect of finally getting his own wand. Ophiuchus immediately had to shut down his pleading to get a wand made by Mykew Gregorovitch, as everyone else in the British line of the Lestrange family, including Ophiuchus and Rabastan, had gotten their wands at Ollivanders, and so would he. Tradition was important to uphold, especially in these times as it kept them safe, kept them important, and kept them above the lowly blood traitors, half-bloods, and muggles that roamed the streets. To set the lesson in more firmly, Rodolphus was sent to his room without dinner that night and was not to be seen outside of it until the weekend was over. Storts begrudgingly gave the haughty eleven year old food, but it wasn’t without the potential to be apparating into a trap the boy set. The weekend ended, Rodolphus properly chagrined, and they continued planning for his departure to Hogwarts.

All of this was forgotten in Rodolphus’s mind as soon as he opened the door to Ollivanders, the bell tinkling overhead, and he was bewitched by the sheer magnitude of wands in his vision. His mother pushed him further inside, as he was lingering in the entranceway and causing a draft in the shop. No one else was in the shop, so he started moving towards one of the walls of wands. 

“Rodolphus,” Berenice snapped, and he instantly returned to stand in front of her. 

Garrick Ollivander suddenly appeared from the back room, the dim lighting and soft steps aiding his stealth. He went to stand behind the front counter, where the light was better, so he could appraise Rodolphus more clearly to determine the appropriate wand for the young boy. Ollivander, while older, had ashy blond hair and a fair few wrinkles around the eyes, but otherwise seemed sprightly and curious as ever. 

“Young Master Lestrange, is it, yes?” Ollivander inquired, and, with a nod from Berenice, beckoned the boy forward. “Now, what is a favorite pastime of yours, child?” 

As he asked questions, Ollivander also held up old measuring tapes to Rodolphus’s arms, hands, and across his chest, scribbling the numbers down on a spare bit of parchment. 

“I like to fly, sir, and I’m rather good at arithmancy and magical history,” Rodolphus parroted out. 

Berenice let a small smile slip out as her son’s chin raised just a bit more at pointing out his strengths. 

“Hm, history, you say? And arithmancy? Well, let’s try this one then,” Ollivander said as he went to a section on the wall, sliding out a box with the ease of having done such a thing for decades. “Mahogany wood with a dragon heartstring core, thirteen inches, pliant flexibility. See if you can make anything happen with it.” 

He handed the wand to Rodolphus, who took it in his hand and flicked it towards an ornamental glass figurine on a distant table. The glass shattered, and Rodolphus meekly put the wand on the counter. 

Ollivander hurried to a different wall, muttering to himself, and climbed the ladder to get a box from near the ceiling. He brought it down and blew the dust off it, causing Rodolphus to cough. “Try this one; it’s hawthorn wood, unicorn hair core, twelve and a quarter inches, rigid flexibility.”

As soon as the wand touched his palm, Rodolphus felt power surge through him, and brilliant green sparks shot out the end of the wand. Ollivander clapped in delight at another perfect match and requested the payment of eight galleons from Berenice while Rodolphus examined the wand from tip to bottom. 

At long last, he felt like he was complete, like he was wholly a wizard, like he was truly powerful. A smirk slid onto Rodolphus’s face as he left Ollivanders, wand securely in its box. Hogwarts had no idea what was coming for it. 

~*~*~*~*~

Rodolphus’s sixth year at Hogwarts was off to a relatively great start; he’d thankfully been passed over for the Slytherin Prefect position for the second year in a row, where it instead went to Lucius Malfoy, a pompous fifth year who wore it proudly. He was excelling in his coursework already, and it wasn’t even Halloween. All of his N.E.W.T. level classes were easy for him, except Arithmancy; he had to actually put in proper effort with that class, but Professor Raymond knew he was intelligent and let him get away with things here and there. Late afternoons were free except on Thursdays for Double Potions, but that meant Rodolphus had the other four weekdays to find an empty classroom and practice his spellwork. 

Andre Rosier, Marcus Avery, and Eric Nott would usually join him, where they’d work on their technique of dark curses and hexes. If there was lots of homework, they’d move their practice times to the evenings instead so they could still slip under the professors’ radar and maintain their good academic standing. They typically just used a desk transfigured into a human-shaped dummy, but on one chilly October evening, that changed. 

Rodolphus had gone to their usual classroom directly after dinner, wanting to do some stretches and such before diving into the wand work, as the cool air made his wrists hurt from overexertion much more quickly than it used to when it was warmer outside. He’d just completed his last round of wrist and arm exercises when Avery and Rosier bustled in with someone between them. Rodolphus frowned, unfamiliar with the small Hufflepuff boy they’d brought along. 

“Who’s this brat, then?” Rodolphus asked, as Nott finally scarpered inside, five minutes late as usual. 

Rosier dumped the boy into a desk, where he slumped and rubbed at a spot on his head, likely where he’d gotten hit by the two older students. 

“Some mudblood first year who didn’t have the good sense to get out of my way when I was leaving the dungeons, that’s who,” Rosier explained. 

The boy shrank into the desk chair, but was pulled upright by Avery not ten seconds later. “Right then, suppose we ought to teach him a lesson then, don’t you think lads?” Avery said. 

“Muffliato,” Nott cast at the classroom door as his way of agreeing with the subtle proposal from Avery. 

A menacing grin stretched across first Rodolphus’ and then the other boys’ faces. The Hufflepuff boy cowered in fear as Rodolphus raised his wand. 

“Petrificus Totalus,” Rodolphus uttered, sending the Hufflepuff falling backwards into the desk he’d just been removed from, stiff as a board with an expression of pure terror frozen on his face. 

The older boys laughed and stepped forward, raising their wands with malicious intent. The poor Hufflepuff’s cries for help and mercy were met with laughter from the four Slytherins. 

“No one’s coming for you, little mudblood,” Rodolphus spat, shooting another jinx at the boy’s legs, causing him to collapse to the floor once again. 

After they’d had their fun and sent the boy on his way to the Hospital Wing under several layers of the Tongue-Tying Curse, the boys cleaned up the classroom with alarming calm, as if they’d not just spent two hours torturing a helpless eleven year old boy. The look of pure glee in Rodolphus’s eyes didn’t leave until he finally fell asleep in his four poster bed in the dungeons that night. 

As he lay awake, thinking about how much justice he’d felt that evening, he felt like he could do anything, would do anything, if it meant mudbloods were expelled from Hogwarts and the Wizarding World forever. They had no sense of respect for those of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood families, no sense of understanding their proper place in the world. Rodolphus had heard whispers of rumors of a very powerful Dark wizard searching to do just such a thing, and he decided that as soon as he was of age and out of Hogwarts, he was going to join this wizard on his crusade. 

~*~*~*~*~

Rodolphus’s wedding to Bellatrix Black was a rather boring affair for pureblood society, all things considered. He was twenty-eight and she was twenty-five, and it was an arranged marriage to beat them all. Both of them carried the same ideals, beliefs, and desire to be the most powerful wizard and witch, but there was no love between them. However, because it was the biggest wedding of the year for pureblood society, the whole affair was required to last at least eight hours, and drag on for eight hours it did. While everything was done traditionally as expected while the press were there, the untraditional thing at their wedding was the toast during the reception to the man to whom the pair were working for, and who was not present at the wedding. Loud cheers came from their friends and peers, while smattering applause came from the older, less easily moved crowd. 

Even though they were meant to be life partners in the romantic sense of the word, Rodolphus and Bellatrix instead chose to interpret it as partners in everything but romance. Everything must be to work towards the extinction of mudbloods from Wizarding society, and that was that. If a child would be required from their match, then so be it, but they were both pragmatic enough to deem a child unnecessary otherwise. 

One of their first acts together as a married couple was the attack and subsequent torture of Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom, on the orders of their fearless leader. Both of them took great pleasure in casting those Cruciatus curses against those horrible blood traitors. It was the most powerful Rodolphus had ever felt, and he knew Bellatrix felt the same. They locked eyes after committing the act, and the lust and wrath in each other’s eyes was all it took for them to disapparate to their house before they engaged in such a sinful act no one would have believed them not to be under some powerful spell. 

Rodolphus reveled in his magical power, in his pureblood family history spanning generations, in his love of the Dark Arts, and he would never show remorse or regret for that. 

Rodolphus Lestrange, Dark Wizard, Death Eater, and purveyor of magical history, however, still dies just like everyone else does. When he does die, in a cell in Azkaban in the middle of the third decade of the twenty-first century, there’s no one left who cares about his legacy. He’s just another dead Death Eater to most everyone. Everyone that is, except for Neville Longbottom, who can finally be completely at peace knowing the last of his parent’s torturers is gone for good. Rodolphus Lestrange, deceased. 


End file.
